


Good Morning Sunshine

by Miya_Morana



Series: Winter Retreat [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bonding, Fingerfucking, Fluff, M/M, Pack Dynamics, Snow Fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-11
Updated: 2012-11-11
Packaged: 2017-11-18 10:25:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miya_Morana/pseuds/Miya_Morana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which there's a snow fight, and more bonding activities.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Good Morning Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the "finger fucking" square of my [homebrewbingo card](http://miya-tenaka.livejournal.com/152803.html).

Stiles snuggles up against Derek’s chest, comfortable and relaxed. The Alpha’s skin is warm under his and their legs are sloppily entwined. Stiles sighs, happy, and his eyes slowly blink open. He has no intention of getting out of bed, he just wants to be able to look at Derek while he sleeps. Derek, who looks so peaceful like this, stretched out on the bed underneath him.

Stiles traces a ray of sunshine filtering through the curtains up Derek’s chest, all the way to the thick vein of his neck. He’s about to lean up to kiss Derek’s neck when his still sleepy brain catches up. Sunshine.

Careful not to wake up Derek, Stiles slips out of bed and walks to the window. He tugs the curtains open a little bit to peak outside, and can’t contain a happy “Woop!”

“What’s going on?” Derek asks behind him, sounding half asleep but also half alert, and Stiles turns back towards him, grinning as he opens the curtains completely.

“Look, it stopped snowing!”

Outside, the sun’s rising in a clear blue sky and the world is carpeted in snow. It’s a beautiful, breathtaking sight. Derek grunts, letting his head fall back on his pillow and throwing an arm over his eyes.

“I want to go _out there_ ,” Stiles exclaims, pointing at the white scenery. “Come on, Derek, lets get dressed and make a snow fort!”

“Why would we need a snow fort?” Derek asks, unmoving, as Stiles bolts to his bags looking for a pair of jeans and warm shirts.

“Because!” he says excitedly. “If you think the pack isn’t gonna start a snow fight after having been cooked up in here all day yesterday, then you really don’t know us.”

He zips his pants up and then grabs Derek’s hand and pulls on it.

“Okay, okay,” Derek surrenders, sitting up on the bed and swinging his legs over the edge to get up. 

He gets dressed much more slowly than Stiles, so by the time he’s done putting his shoes on Stiles is already bouncing by the bedroom door. Stiles grabs Derek’s hand again and almost runs through the house and to the front door. 

The outside air is cold, but there’s no wind and the morning sunshine kisses his cheeks and the tip of his nose. The snow is over two feet high but Stiles runs through it, laughing, and lets go of Derek’s hand to twirl around. When he looks back at his lover, Derek is smiling, soft and young and real.

Stiles grins back at him and waits for the werewolf to make his way through the snow. Derek walks slowly, his boots crushing the fresh snow with a small crunching noise. When he reaches Stiles, Stiles throws his arms around his shoulders and kiss him. It’s soft, chaste, happy. Their lips part and they lean against each other’s forehead, smiling.

Until a snowball hits Derek in the face and another one catches Stiles’s shoulder, that is.

They look back toward the house in surprise, and there, right next to the door, Peter and Isaac are smirking at them. Isaac throws a second snowball at them, but Derek moves just in time to avoid it.

“Oh, it is _on_ ,” Stiles grins, bending down to grab some snow.

Pretty soon the rest of the pack joins the snow fight, drawn by the shouts and the laughter. They team up at first, Scott and Allison joining Derek and Stiles while Lydia forces Jackson to take Peter and Isaac’s side. Erica and Boyd try to not get involved, but when Scott’s snowball misses Jackson and hits Boyd in the chest, it seems that Derek, Stiles, Scott and Allison are going to loose this fight.

Until Isaac throws a snowball right into Peter’s face. Peter blinks at him, surprised, then throws his own snowball at Isaac, and then it’s every man and every woman for themselves. It’s complete chaos, with snowballs flying everywhere. 

Stiles darts behind a tree for cover and starts making the biggest snowball in the history of _ever_ , grinning from ear to ear. He peaks around the tree trunk, and no one’s looking in his direction. Boyd isn’t too far, his back turned on Stiles, and Stiles aims carefully. He’s about to throw his snowball, ready to dart in the opposite direction right after, when someone tugs the back of his collar and shoves snow under his already wet hoody.

Stiles yelps, turn around to see Derek running away, laughing like he’s never heard him laugh before.

“Oh no you don’t!” he shouts, darting after the werewolf through the snow.

Derek zigzags around the spare trees, making it impossible for Stiles to aim at him, then suddenly disappears. Stiles keeps running, looking around for Derek, but he can’t see him, at least not until Derek lunges from behind a fir tree and and tackles him down.

Stiles lands on his back in the soft snow, a heavy werewolf pinning him there. He’s still gripping his huge snowball, though it has crumbled a bit during his mad run, so he smacks it right into Derek’s grinning face. Derek spits out snow and shakes his head, dripping all over Stile, but he doesn’t let go.

Stiles squirms a little bit for good measure, but he’s not really trying to get away. He gives up and just lies there, slowly catching his breath and smiling at Derek. Derek leans down and captures his lips. It’s a heated kiss that leaves them panting and clinging at each other’s clothes. Derek pushes Stiles’s quadruple layer of shirts up to slip his hands under them, and Stiles moans softly, nipping at Derek’s lower lip. 

“I’m gonna get a cold if you undress me in the snow, you know?” he breathes, wrapping a leg around Derek’s thigh to keep him close.

“I can keep you warm,” Derek grins, kissing him again as his fingers stroke Stiles’s stomach.

Someone grunts from a few feet away, and Stiles turns his head to see Scott running a hand over his face.

“Seriously, guys, we’re _outside_!” he whines. “The fight’s over and Boyd and Isaac are making breakfast. Join us whenever you’re decent.”

And he turns away, stomping through the snow.

“Hey, we weren’t even doing anything yet!” Stiles calls after him.

“Yet?” Derek chuckles, and Stiles grins back at him.

Stiles shrugs, smirking. He kisses Derek again, just a quick press of lips this time, before pushing on his massive shoulders.

“Come on, I really don’t want to catch a cold. Making out with a stuffed nose sounds _gross_.”

Derek sighs, but he lets go of Stiles and helps him up. They lace their fingers together as they walk back to the house, the sound of snow being crunched under their shoes and the song of a distant bird the only things breaking their comfortable silence.

***

After the breakfast, they try to take Jackson’s car and drive back to where they abandoned Stiles’s Jeep on the road two days before, but there’s too much snow on the road even for Jackson’s four-wheel drive.

Stiles hates to think of his baby buried in the snow in the middle of the road, but he guesses no one else is going to be driving through _this_. And it’s not as if they could do anything about it, anyway.

Instead, they clear up most of the snow from the terrace and carry a table and a bunch of chairs outside so that they can do Deaton’s assigned pack-bonding exercise of the day under the sun. Lydia hands them each a piece of paper with one sentence on it.

“All right,” she says as she sits down between Jackson and Isaac, her tone reminding Stiles of Mrs Beckett, their English teacher. “For those of you who don’t know, that’s how round-robins work. We’re writing collective short stories. You write one sentence and then pass your sheet to your right-hand neighbor, and so forth until your original story comes back to you. Then we read the results.”

Stiles looks down at his own starting sentence. It looks like the beginning of a fairy tale. He taps his pen on the table as he tries to think of something to write, and gets distracted by Derek’s foot playing with his. When Allison passes him her paper he quickly scribbles something generic on his and passes it along.

They all seem to get into it after a few sentences. There’s frantic writing and some giggling, and the sentences get longer and more complex. There’s even more hilarity when they actually read them out loud in the end, as well as some random complaints about each other’s unreadable handwritings. The stories don’t really make sense and a few of them have taken a rather sexy turn, but nevertheless, between this and the snow fight Stiles thinks that Deaton might have been right about this retreat.

***

They spend the evening playing games again, the whole pack this time. Jackson turns out to be terrible at Dixit, but he holds his own at more traditional competitive games. Without the wind the house is less cold, so Lydia decides it would be unnecessary to light a fire. Stiles almost points out that the point of chimney fires isn’t just to keep you warm, but he catches something on Peter’s face that almost looks like gratitude, there and gone in an instant. Right, no fire.

There’s a small argument over who’ll get to use the bathrooms first when it’s time to go to bed (there are three, which isn’t quite enough for ten persons, especially since Jackson refuses to let anyone other than Lydia share his). They sort it out eventually, and when Stiles comes back from his shower he finds Derek sitting on the windowsill, looking out at the night sky.

Stiles takes a moment to take in the view. Derek’s only wearing dark red boxer shorts, and his hair is still wet from his own shower, clinging down to his neck and his forehead except in one place where it sticks up. His body is like some kind of greek statue, a perfect anatomy study on muscles. And he knows exactly how warm and firm this chest feels under his hands, how comforting and comfortable these arms are when they wrap around him. 

Had he known things would feel so easy and natural between them, he would have kissed Derek a long time ago. But then, maybe if he had, if they hadn’t waited until they’d become friends and started really trusting each other, then it might have been a disaster. Maybe things only happened now because this was the right time for them.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Derek says without looking away from the darkened landscape.

“You’re awfully gorgeous,” Stiles replies softly, walking up to him.

Derek’s arm wraps around his waist and pulls him close, and Stiles rests his chin on Derek’s shoulder to get a look outside. It seems pitch black to him at first, but then his eyes slowly adjust and he can see the shape of the landscape: the clearing, slightly sloped to the right, the dark silhouettes of trees, the white shape of the mountain on the left, cutting through the starry sky. It’s dark and muted yet still beautiful. It must look amazing to Derek’s eyes.

“Want to run out and howl at the moon?” he teases, and Derek grunts. Stiles turns his head in time to catch the end of an eye roll and can’t help laughing. “It’s so easy to wind you up!”

“Oh, you don’t need to annoy me to wind me up,” Derek says with a small smirk that makes Stiles’s heart skip a bit.

“Oh yeah?” Stiles breathes, mouth less than an inch away from Derek’s.

“Yes.”

They move slowly, deliberately, from the windowsill to the bed, without breaking eye contact. When Stiles crawls back on the bed and Derek settles on top of him they finally kiss. It’s slow and full of heat and desire. Stiles wants this, he wants this so much. Derek’s affection and care and, right now even more than the rest of the time, his body. Stiles wants _everything_. 

They take each other’s remaining clothes off slowly too, taking the time to let their hands roam everywhere. Stiles parts his legs open and Derek slides between them like he belongs there, and when he leans down to crush his mouth against Stiles’s again their erections line up perfectly. 

They find a slow rhythm that provide just the right amount of friction to make Stiles’s moan every now and then into Derek’s mouth. Derek’s making these small noises in his throat that are driving Stiles crazy with want. They part for air and Stiles arches up to put more friction between them, where their cocks are sliding against each other, slick with precome. 

Derek gasps, his eyes fluttering shut for an instant, and the sight sends a new rush of heat through Stiles, who bites his lower lip around a moan. Stiles takes the werewolf’s hand in his, pulls it to his lips. Slowly, he kisses Derek’s knuckles, nips at one finger before he opens his mouth and darts his tongue out. Derek stares at him, pupils blown wide as Stiles licks his fingers then wraps his lips around them. He makes them as slick as he can with his saliva, then releases Derek’s hand. 

Derek drags his fingers over Stiles’s chin, leaving a wet trail, and raises his hand to look at it. Stiles spreads his legs a little it wider, trying not to feel embarrassed by how shameless it must look. Derek makes a small sound that could only be described as a whine as he kneels back on the bed, eyes never leaving Stiles’s face.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes,” Stiles breathes out, feeling his cheeks flush pink. “I want you. In case that wasn’t clear.”

Derek huffs in fake annoyance and real arousal, then his eyes finally move down from Stiles’s face to where Stiles is spread wide on the sheets. He scoots back a little to have more room, and grabs a pillow. Stiles raises his hips for Derek to slide the pillow under his ass. He’s completely exposed to Derek’s stare, and he thought it would feel vulnerable but instead he feels confident and powerful.

Derek puts his hand on Stiles’s hip then rubs a wet fingertip against his entrance. Stiles groans and pushes down against it.

“Greedy,” Derek comments, but he’s smiling that wolfish grin that he gets when Stiles does something pleasantly unexpected.

So Stiles does it again, and Derek gives in, pushes his finger passed the tight ring of muscle. Once again Stiles marvels out how different it feels having someone else’s hands on him (or, in this case, _in him_ ) from when he explores his own body. Derek’s finger is thicker than his own, and the angle is different. The stretch feels good and Stiles makes an approving noise in his throat.

“You’ve done this before? To yourself?” Derek asks, slowly pulling his finger out to push it back in.

“A couple of times,” Stiles admits, his breath catching a little. “Feels good.”

“How many fingers have you used?” Derek asks, voice rougher than usual.

“Two,” Stiles breathes out, pushing back on Derek’s finger.

“So it’s okay if I do this?”

Derek slides a second finger alongside the first one, stretching Stiles wider. It almost hurts for a few seconds before Stiles relaxes again and just _takes it_.

“Fuck, you’re so hot!” Derek groans.

He crooks his fingers, feeling around until he finds that perfect spot that sends sparks behind Stiles’s eyes. Stiles moans, surprised and loud, and Derek does it again. He slowly drives Stiles crazy with his fingers, moving them in and out and brushing against his prostate almost every time. Stiles is fisting the sheets under him with one hand and he tries to grab his cock with the other, but Derek catches it.

“Here,” he says, pulling it toward his own erection. He moves over Stiles to kiss his collarbone and wraps his own free hand around Stiles’s cock. “Let me.”

Stiles’s back arches up when Derek hits his prostate just as he twists his wrist _just right_. He’s not going to last much longer, he can feel his orgasm building, his balls tightening, and he tries to hold on, because they are so far from finished, but Derek’s hands are _wicked_. He has three fingers in him now and Stiles isn’t exactly sure when that happened.

“Derek...” he moans. “I don’t know how much longer...”

Derek groans against his skin, raises his head to look straight into Stiles’s eyes. His pupils are blown wide, his lips are red and shiny wet, his breathing is almost as erratic as Stiles’s.

“Come for me, Stiles,” he says, demands, his voice rough and dry.

And Stiles does. He pushes back on Derek’s fingers and lets go, tipping over the edge. He throws his head back, screwing his eyes shut as he comes all over his stomach and Derek’s hand. Somehow he manages to keep stroking Derek’s cock, though sloppily. Derek grunts and bites the base of Stiles’s neck with blunt teeth.

As Stiles comes back from his high, panting, Derek carefully slips his fingers out. Stiles feels strangely empty, but Derek strokes his sides and his hips soothingly, smiling.

“Are you okay?” he asks, a bit breathlessly.

“Oh yeah,” Stiles sighs happily. “What about you?”

He tugs a little on Derek’s cock, dragging a moan out of the werewolf. Stiles grins, then sits up on the bed, pushing Derek off him. Derek lets Stiles roll them until he’s the one on top, straddling Derek’s thighs. He keeps stroking Derek, almost lazily, and Derek grunts, pushing up in Stiles’s hand.

“I think I need to repay you for that mind-blowing orgasm,” Stiles says, licking his lips as he admires Derek’s wonderful body.

“Mind-blowing?” Derek repeats, arching an eyebrow.

Stiles nods, then crawls down Derek’s legs, just enough that when he bends down his face his right over Derek’s crotch.

“Stiles,” Derek breathes.

He puts a hand on Stiles’s cheek, his thumb softly brushing the corner of Stiles’s lips. Stiles turns his head slightly and nips at the thumb, then gives it a small lick before lowering his mouth onto Derek’s still cock. It’s thick and warm in his mouth, sliding over his tongue, and Derek’s hand moves to the back of his neck. Stiles looks up to see Derek staring at him as he swirls his tongue over the head, and sees his muscles tense up as he moans under Stiles’s ministrations.

Stiles doesn’t dare take too much of Derek in, but he bobs his head up and down, and what he can’t take he strokes with his hand. When Derek starts thrusting his hips up, pushing deeper into his mouth, Stiles tries to relax and move with it. Derek is making deep, rough noises, his nails digging into the skin of Stiles’s neck in a way that’s going to leave marks. Stiles doesn’t care.

“Stiles,” Derek warns him, gripping his shoulder and pushing him back.

Stiles lets go of Derek’s cock with an obscene popping noise and strokes him faster, until Derek is arching up and coming with a moan that sounds a little bit like Stiles’s name. Okay, that sounds a lot like Stiles’s name. Stiles grins like the Cheshire cat and crawls up Derek’s body to kiss him breathless.

“You’re so hot,” he says when they part.

“You’re so greedy,” Derek replies, moving his thigh to brush it against Stiles’s half-hard cock.

“I hadn’t even noticed,” Stiles breathes out, rubbing softly against Derek. “But that would be due to the fact that’s you’re so hot, so I stand by what I said.”

He yawns, and Derek huffs a small laugh against his cheek.

“Come on, time to sleep,” he says, rolling Stiles off him so he can grab a discarded t-shirt near the bed.

He cleans them up efficiently, and Stiles half-heartedly thrusts up into his hand, but another yawn takes him by surprise, so eventually he just settles into Derek’s arms and they drag the sheets over their naked bodies.

Somewhere outside there’s a howl, soon followed by another. Stiles stiffens, wondering if there’s trouble, but Derek tightens his arm around him.

“It’s all fine,” he says sleepily. “Running under the stars, howling at the moon. All fine.”

“Okay,” Stiles replies, snuggling a little bit closer to Derek. “Good night?”

“Good night.”

Stiles feels Derek’s lips press against his forehead. He falls asleep with a smile on his lips.


End file.
